Dark Lord of Azkaban
by Fantome
Summary: AU: Tom Riddle is released from Azkaban after 50 years of imprisonment from opening the Chamber in his 5th year. Now he seeks his revenge.
1. Part One

_[A/N: AU: Tom Riddle is released from Azkaban after fifty years of imprisonment from opening the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year. Now he seeks his revenge. Rated R. _

Remember this is an alternate universe story. Changes in characterization are meant as results of the different timeline, but overall the characters are very similar. Violence warning and slight sick humor warning. 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J. K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and all of her publishers. If he left me alone, I'd stop playing with him.] 

The Dark Lord of Azkaban

**

Part I

**

**1993**

They're letting me out today. I've counted the days as best I could, readjusting my estimates whenever news came of the outside, and I was accurate at the end when the news became regular. It's been fifty wasted years. 

It wasn't long before the war was long over, that Hitler was dead before the muggles could wipe themselves out and then that Grindelwald was killed shortly after. He was dead before I could even meet him, and we had shared a common enemy, the one who put me here, the one I would kill soon. 

The Dementors sense the fluctuations of my emotions from cold numbness to fury and move in for one last attack. I'm ready for them. 

**1943**

After the screams had ripped through the Great Hall at breakfast that Myrtle was dead, I became addicted to the palpable fear around me. I was the calm center of a storm of turmoil. The adrenaline in their veins strengthened me, made me more powerful, despite the unpracticed awkwardness of Myrtle's death. 

I needed to do it again. 

I drank in the false sorrow and platitudes around me before I slipped out in the opposite direction of the exiting students to see the professors remove her body from the bathroom. I watched discreetly in the shadows. Transfiguration Professor Dumbledore and Potions Professor Morgan passed me in a few minutes, murmuring and sighing. Shortly, they reappeared, bearing a glorious sight. 

Myrtle's mudblood whining had been silenced, her stiffening arm hanging from the stretcher, white fingers beautifully unfurled. I regretted that I couldn't see the shocked look on her face one last time. 

I stepped forward just a little, and Dumbledore shot around to face me instantly, fury blazing in his blue eyes. Despite the slight shaking in his hands, he asked evenly, "Why are you standing there, Mr. Riddle?" The stretcher jolted Myrtle's arm as the procession stopped. 

His gaze cut through me, emptying all my pleasure in an instant and leaving me afraid. "I had to see for myself, sir. I couldn't believe that something so terrible could happen at Hogwarts." The fact that my voice hadn't wavered bolstered my confidence. 

"I don't recall Miss Hornby announcing to the students where she'd found Myrtle, although she was quite distressed. Do you recall, Malcolm?" 

From the other end, Professor Morgan shook his head. 

My mind was racing in circles as Dumbledore waved his wand to magically support the body and stepped closer to me, trapping me against the stone wall. Morgan continued on his way, leaving us alone. 

"Why did you follow us, Tom? Professor Dippet asked all of the prefects to take the students to their dormitories so that the halls would be cleared." 

I had been so caught up in the atmosphere in the Great Hall that I hadn't noticed any professors speaking. I truthfully answered, "I didn't hear. I was distraught." 

"Distraught." He stared at me over his glasses in that infuriating way of his. "Perhaps we should go to my office." He reached for my sleeve and I pulled it away swiftly, cracking my knuckles against the wall. 

"I should really check on the students, sir." I slipped around him, bumping my shoulder in an undignified way and did my best not to run down the hall, thankfully unpursued. It wasn't like Dumbledore's infinitely patient style to chase people; somehow they usually came to him of their own accord. 

Not me. 

I waited behind a statue on the second floor before rushing back downstairs. The Chamber was the only place I could really think without the mindless chattering of children interrupting. I paused in the lavatory and closed my eyes, to breathe in its lingering fear, to separate it from myself and become cold and controlled again. I could almost still hear Myrtle's cries as I opened the lavatory and went down to my sanctuary. 

Instead of comfort, anxiety returned. _Dumbledore knows._ I forced it down, transformed it to rage. "I hate him. I have to kill him. He deserves to die." My voice echoed against the walls, sounding louder and stronger than it really was. 

He knew, and I wouldn't be caught. Never. I called my basilisk and ordered her to roam free throughout the school, to kill everyone she saw, and most of all, to find Dumbledore. I watched her receding tail shine in the torchlight with a small sense of regret that she wouldn't live after her mission, but a much larger regret that I wouldn't be able to witness the destruction myself. 

My worthless education had come to an end, and I wasn't leaving without taking out as many of my enemies as possible. I gripped my wand and prepared for battle. 

First in the quiet halls, I met Caretaker Filch, the disgusting servant squib, who was chatting with half-breed Gryffindor Rubeus Hagrid about the rat problem. Hagrid knew more about me than I cared to imagine, having caught me in the girls' lavatory once. I had discovered his acromantula, so we'd struck a bargain. But bargains with non-humans certainly don't count. I hadn't seen that oaf earlier in the day, so it was likely he didn't even know what had transpired before breakfast. As for Filch, I hated his nosiness, disdain for purebloods, and his ugly, dirty cats. 

Hagrid turned toward me, ready to greet me until he saw the look in my eyes. I stunned them both in an instant, unsure of my killing skills on people. The Avada Kedavras took less effort than I imagined, and they were both lying dead on the floor with stupid expressions, and the cat was yowling until I kicked it against the wall. 

My confidence rose. It was just too easy. 

I was a bit disappointed to make it all the way to the school entrance before I saw someone else. It was doddering old Headmaster Dippet, his predominant look of confusion intensified when he recognized me. 

"I've been looking for you, Mr. R-Riddle. It's quite urgent--" 

"You've come yourself instead of sending Dumbledore? I'm impressed." He was too meek and too old to command respect, and I loathed his senile stuttering. 

As I expected, he merely fidgeted when I pointed my wand at him. "D-don't be hasty, Tom." 

I hated that name, and I wasn't going to put up with it any longer. "Don't call me by that filthy muggle name! My name is Lord Voldemort!" 

He stared blankly. 

"Crucio!" With a little imagination, it looked like Dumbledore writhing there, but it didn't take long for Dippet's heart to give out and the illusion to end. He lay there like the discarded puppet he was and drained me of my satisfaction. He wasn't the one I wanted, but it was time to go, for behind me, the screams had begun. 

"Morsmordre!" I shouted before I left and began the walk to the school boundary slowly and deliberately, savoring the power in my heart but wishing it had been more of a challenge. Once in the forest and out of the wards, I could disapparate, a useful little trick I'd taught myself in my spare time. I wasn't satiated, and I knew where I could go to remedy that. 

I'd known for a while where my father lived, since he had the largest house in the little town near the city orphanage. I'd never gone, never known what to say to him... what to _do_ to him until I began to realize my potential at Hogwarts. It had been very difficult to resist paying him a visit the previous summer, but I had been under the mistaken impression that I should not draw too much attention and finish my education before seeking out Grindelwald to join his cause. Now it seemed my timetable was conveniently moved forward, and I was going to enjoy this immensely. 

I'd spent years imagining what I'd do to Thomas Riddle, Senior, picturing every sort of dismemberment and torture possible. And now I was standing before his offensively extravagant house in Little Hangleton, and it didn't feel like it could be real. 

When I barged in the door and saw an old woman and man sitting alone at the table, I was a bit shocked. I wondered if I'd been mistaken, and my father had moved away. Then he appeared, carrying a pot of tea... my father, the man who had infected me with his muggle blood, dirtying the Slytherin line forever, abandoned my mother to die, and left me in a muggle orphanage to be starved and beaten. 

He was a nervous man, who had once been handsome, but now becoming overweight, with gray mixed into his black thinning hair. He looked distressingly like an older version of me, and I found myself revolted at the thought. Never, never would I look like him. As soon as he met my eyes, dropping his teapot at the expression on my face, I lunged. I shoved him against the wall, wand forgotten, and began to strangle him. 

The elderly couple screamed, and since it was the third time of the day, it was beginning to wear on me. I released my father, retrieved my wand, and silenced them quickly with the Killing Curse. I was starting to grow tired from the magical exertion and opted to tell my father what I thought of him verbally until I recovered. 

He knew it was me, recognized his muggle blood in my appearance. I wondered how much he even knew about magic, what it could do to him, until I had done my little demonstration on his parents. "Tom," he gasped from on the floor, "Is it you?" 

"Tom Riddle's dead, as dead as you will be soon. My name is Lord Voldemort. _Say it._" 

"Lord Voldemort," he murmured, and he even managed to make it sound stupid, which made me stand over him to point the wand at his throat. "Please don't hurt me. What did you do to my parents?" 

"They're dead!" His ignorance made me hate him more. 

He started to rasp and reached out toward me feebly. 

"Are you afraid?! You should be afraid. The pitiful thing is that you don't even know who I am. Why do you think I am here?" 

"You're angry. And-and you should be. I'll make it up to you. We can be a family. I promise!" 

"I don't want your lies, Father! All I want is for you to die for what you've done. You left me with those bastard muggles, but worst of all, you made me like _you._ You--" I broke off, suddenly nauseated at all the memories of my childhood resurfacing. This wasn't the time for weakness; this was the time to kill those feelings forever. I had to focus on my hatred, my desire to see him suffer. "Crucio." 

I let it go on longer than I planned, until he was beginning to bleed and was covered in his own filth. How fitting. He shrieked until he was hoarse, and it eased my fears, the earlier betrayal of my emotions becoming a faint memory, and the coldness inside me growing as his life slipped away. I started to laugh, and the euphoria that had started with Mudblood Myrtle's death returned. When Thomas Riddle's body made its last spasm and gave out, I left without a second glance. 

Flushed with pleasure, tired, and still laughing, I sat down outside on the porch in plain sight, daring anyone to challenge me. I felt invincible, and I was still laughing as I shot the Dark Mark into the air, and I didn't even notice as the Aurors approached, that I was too magically and physically drained to resist. 

***

I was told that Dumbledore was there in Little Hangleton; he'd led them to me, certainly afraid to face me alone, and he was the one who encouraged them to incarcerate me without a trial. They snapped my wand on the spot, after stunning and binding me. The next time I awoke, I was in Azkaban, an ugly number branded on my chest and wearing what appeared to be already cast-off prison clothes. 

I didn't mind the damp darkness; it was comfortingly familiar to my Chamber. The stench was intolerable, but worse were the Dementors... at first. 

It was a game we played. The Dementor attacks filled my younger self with trepidation then fear. Soon it became a test of my will, and I welcomed the chance to strengthen my defenses. The visions of my childhood in the orphanage faded, hardening my mind into a focused shell that wouldn't be distracted from its goals by emotional weakness. I'd bid them to attack me beyond my previous endurance each time, channeling the pain to hatred. It was then that I found I had some measure of control over them, to send them away when I needed concentration. Still, the cold lingered, and they wouldn't assist in my escape. 

My hair grew longer and thinner, and my beard was filthy and unkempt, as the years dragged on. Lacking a wand, I could only develop my mental skills. I began to learn to influence, even possess the prison rats, but even they had only a rare opportunity of escape from the island. 

I went fifty years without opportunity for escape until a certain balding, rat-like ministry inspector visited my cell, a man named Peter Pettigrew who was very susceptible to persuasion, particularly with the added assistance of the Dementors, which left him twitching in fear. He was easily convinced to introduce a prison reform bill to the Ministry and even smuggled dark arts books and newspapers to me during my wait. 

To my fury, my eyes had atrophied during the long years of idleness, and reading was very difficult. I was so frustrated that I had to clench my fists tightly to suppress the urge to gouge out my eyes, reminding myself this was only another challenge to overcome. For now I had to endure it, but soon the time would come to improve myself beyond even my original condition. 

I read of alchemy and necromancy, blood potions and curses, dream manipulation and possession. It was slower work to read than I could normally tolerate, but I was always in total command of each subject when the time came to command Pettigrew to return with a new one. The newspapers were primarily drivel, with a few useful bits of information about my enemies and the new world outside. 

The Daily Prophet's discussions of the reform bill showed me that it was becoming well-supported. Pettigrew's interview on the horrors of Dementor and inhumane conditions in Azkaban had been explicit enough to sway public opinion. Fifty years of peace in the wizarding world left it complacent and sympathetic, vulnerable to attack. Freedom was so close that I could taste it. When Pettigrew opened the door to release me, I was dizzy with elation. 

I could sense his fear as he explained to me, "T-Tom Riddle, You are banned from carrying a wand and taking your place in wizard society. You will be placed in a muggle flat in London and will be given a job after you successfully pass your next hearing. You have lost your full rights and will be incarcerated for life or executed if further crimes against wizarding society are committed. Do you understand this?" 

"Yes," I answered sharply, and he flinched. "Do you understand what I require of you?" His eyes went unfocused and he nodded. Despite his conscious desire to rid himself of me, he had performed admirably. He'd even named himself my parole officer. He did need a little reminder of his duty, however. "You know what I will do to you if you fail me. And do not call me by that name again." 

He sniffed and fidgeted but didn't avert his beady dark eyes from mine. I followed him triumphantly to the office and took the portkey off the island. I was free. 


	2. Part Two

**

Part II

**

I was led to a muggle-infested slum into an uncomfortably warm, dumpy flat that was little more than a room with a dirty kitchen on one side, and a bathroom with a leaky ceiling. I was disgusted but reminded myself that the location would afford me my first opportunity for anonymity. The kitchen was fully stocked with instructions on the oven for those unfamiliar with muggle appliances and those who were too incapacitated by their time in Azkaban to remember. 

There was nothing I wanted more than revenge, but to make a mistake now would be disastrous. I snatched Pettigrew's wand and put him under a full Imperius Curse, which was surprisingly easy, and ordered him to find me assistants and supplies. I needed a wand immediately. 

I washed myself as many times as possible, disposing of the grime Azkaban had embedded into my skin. Washing was rare in Azkaban, administered crudely by spraying the entire cell when it was time to impress a visitor. It wasn't long before the brown, icy water began to fill up around my ankles in the bathtub, and I was forced to discontinue. I dried myself and began to attend to my hair. 

My gray-streaked black hair was as wild as that mudblooded giant Rubeus Hagrid's and I lopped it off with inexpertise and became irritated by the inconsistency of my now-balding head. I cut off my beard in clumps before turning to the modern plastic safety razor. _As if it would be such a shame for muggles to slip and slice their throats open..._ I studied the final result carefully in the mirror. 

My features were pale and angular, and in an instant I recognized something else, someone else in that mirror. _I've become him._ My father's face stared coldly back at me, and I screamed and shattered the mirror with my fists, spattering blood on the cracked marble countertop. I pressed my hands to my eyes and forced myself to breathe slowly. When I had calmed, I was more resolved than ever. It was merely another situation to remedy, along with creating a new identity or rather, reviving an old one. 

Angry pounding shook my door, and a dark-haired woman with flashing narrow eyes and a regal demeanor--even in her old muggle dress--burst into my flat. I recognized this woman: she had been admitted to Azkaban in recent years for muggle torture. I'd taken note of her pride as she walked down the prison corridor like a queen surveying her castle. 

At the moment, however, she was shrieking. "It's bad enough that I have to live in this revolting muggle hovel without your commotion, old man! I will not tolerate--" 

"You don't know who you're provoking, do you?" I asked tightly. "I know you from Azkaban... perhaps you've heard of the heir of Slytherin?" 

She went pale, a sickly grey look on her skin, as I pinned her against the door. "My name is Bellatrix Black. Forgive me, Mr. Riddle. I didn't know it was you. Yes, everyone who practices the Dark Arts has heard of you--" 

Her supplication slightly eased my anger at her incorrect forms of address. "I don't want to hear that name again. You will address me as Lord Voldemort or suffer the consequences. You should be on your knees thanking me for your release!" I found that I had been crushing her wrist with my bloodied hand when she sank to the floor quietly. 

"The stories are true? You are the Dark Lord come to lead us?" 

I wasn't particularly interested in leading anyone rather than using them, but being somewhat of a legendary figure could work to my advantage. I forced myself to let go of her, instead brushing a lock of soft hair from her downturned eyes. She was strong and willing to follow me. Evenly, I observed, "I've recently developed a greater appreciation for the finer things in life... and you seem to be one of them." The flattery and my smile did their work, and she was mine. 

"I was curious... master... how you were responsible for my release?" 

_Master._ The word empowered me, strengthened my confidence. "I have a servant in the Ministry whom I persuaded to introduce the Prison Reform Act. You'll be meeting him soon, after he completes the tasks I've given him." 

My food had run out several days before Pettigrew returned, but I no longer cared to eat. Bellatrix's occasional company was enlightening, but she wasn't the only visitor I received. On the second week, a group of muggle religious leaders came to my door, and it was all I could do not to kill them on the spot. _I haven't struggled this long to be subjected to their sickeningly pharisaical lectures. The bigots knock on my door pretending to offer salvation when they should be asking for it, begging for it, from me._ It wasn't worth my time to explain my revulsion by their collective delusions, so I slammed the door in their faces, but not before insinuating a bit of doubt into their feeble minds and making it clear that they shouldn't return if they valued their wasted lives. I sank into my armchair, clenching the blade of a kitchen knife deep into my palm. Indeed, it was a true pity they hadn't all destroyed themselves--they'd had such a good start during the war, before I had become indisposed. Perhaps they needed a little help. 

I had to take action. It was time to end my complacency and time to reclaim my life. I refused to stay with these pitiful Muggles any longer. The last descendent of Salazar Slytherin would reclaim his birthright. I embedded the knife into the door with finality. 

***

I reached out mentally and summoned Pettigrew immediately to demand that he find more suitable quarters for myself and Bella. He had amazingly managed to anticipate my needs and took us both directly by portkey to a large empty flat above a shop in Knockturn Alley. I stared out the window onto the road below, revived by the magic in the air that had been so sorely absent for most of my life. _My goddamned wasted life._ I turned sharply and realized that Pettigrew was talking to me while Bellatrix was examining the dusty wood floor with distaste. 

"I've brought what you asked for, my Lord... for the most part. Here are your books, potions ingredients, new robes, and, and I couldn't get a wand yet." He cringed and ducked his head. 

I ground my teeth and told myself to be patient while examining the parcels he placed on the old table. I pulled out a short sword, simple with a golden hilt and steel blade, but well-made, and pointed the tip toward him in practice. "What's this?" 

He bumped his back against the wall, recoiling. "I couldn't get a wand--" _Yes, yes, repeat what infuriates me, why don't you?_ "-but I found this sword. It's cursed to make a wound bleed forever." 

"Forever? Nothing is forever." I whispered dangerously. "Until death, you mean. While this is lovely, it is not at all what I requested. Perhaps I should give it a test?" I pressed the tip to his neck, just off-center before twisting it back rapidly in preparation to strike. 

"Wait!" he cried, raising his arm defensively. "I found someone!" 

I gripped the handle tightly but lowered the sword slightly. I noted that Bellatrix looked amused. Yes, she was exactly what I needed. "You found whom?" 

"Sir, sir, I found a contact at Hogwarts. To get to Headmaster Dumbledore. First, I tried to talk to the Potions master, but he threatened to curse me, and the Imperius didn't work on him, but I think I Obliviated him properly; anyway, I talked to Professor Quirrell, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I could Imperius him, and he's coming any minute because I floo-called him, so don't kill me! Please." 

I was a bit disappointed, but I sheathed the sword. "Excellent. If he doesn't prove useful, I'll kill _him_ and take his wand." 

A twitchy man, even more so than Pettigrew, with a permanently confused look on his face entered quickly, catching his purple robes in the door that slammed behind him. My first impression was that he would prove to be absolutely useless. "Tell me when Dumbledore is most vulnerable," I ordered directly. 

"I don't know," Quirrell stuttered. "He is usually surrounded by the professors if he isn't in his office. Maybe, maybe during the summer, when Hogwarts is closed?" 

"During the summer. Would you care to refresh me as to what month it is now? I was under the impression that it is winter, judging by the snow outside! Am I incorrect?" 

"January, January, sir. Please forgive me. I told you what you wanted to know." 

I glared at him and Pettigrew in turn. "He's like this under Imperius? I'm unimpressed." 

"Yes, sir, but I'm really not very experienced. I thought maybe he'd be more helpful than--" 

"Very well," I gritted out. "Quirrell, there's one simple thing I need that you couldn't possibly fail. You will procure me a wand, saying that you have destroyed your own in a duel, or you will forcibly take someone else's. I don't care which, but I prefer something in yew or phoenix feather. If you cannot do this, I will kill you." 

"You must have patience," Bellatrix spoke up, a look dangerously close to taunting still in her dark eyes. 

I whirled on her. "I've run out of patience decades ago! There are no longer any excuses for wasting my time." 

The corners of her lips turned up a little. "I assure you that _I_ don't intend to, my lord. I have no love for Dumbledore either; he is the head of the Wizengamot." 

"Go, Quirrell!" He skittered out of the room, wringing his hands like a lunatic. I took a deep breath. "Go also, Pettigrew. You've done well, despite yourself. However, the first one of you to bring me a wand will be the only one who lives. I grow tired of waiting." He seemed to be coming around to me, and soon I wouldn't need to control him directly. 

Bella fingered her navy blue robe appreciatively. "Is this for me? It wouldn't suit you." 

"Yes. Put it on." I wasn't in the mood for her jesting. 

She looked around the large, nearly empty room with distaste. "Where will I sleep? I presume we are both staying here." 

"As soon as I get a _wand,_ I can improve it. Get dressed in the bathroom, and get out of my sight for a while." 

She complied, and I cast off my own muggle clothes, a threadbare plaid shirt and ill-fitting, brown corduroy pants, in favor of a black satin layered robe. I leaned stiffly against the bare window frame to survey Knockturn Alley once more. Ironically, as much as the muggle world had progressed, the wizarding world had remained the same. The snow fell peacefully on the same buildings, the wizards in the same kinds of clothing as the first time I had seen this hidden part of London. Their inability to adapt would be their downfall, but the power of it was that it had required enormous armies and unbelievable destructive forces to turn back Hitler's threat, while it had only taken one man to destroy Grindelwald: Dumbledore. But he could never take me down. I was willing to die to destroy him, to enjoy my hard-earned, long-deserved revenge. 

Darkness fell. I rubbed my face tiredly and with the contact of the stubble on my face came a flash of my father's face, the coward who left me with Mr. Worth, a vile man who whipped and attacked me until I found the power within me to do away with him, and then I envisioned his replacement, Samuels, an even more twisted man, whom I'd only dreamt of killing, having run out of time for that. _Out of time._ The bastard had probably laughed when he found out I wasn't returning that summer. No doubt I hadn't deprived him of any of his sick plans, not with all the new children arriving because of the war. The orphanage was probably still there, just as I remembered it, dirty and poorly lit with cracked walls and battered beds. 

An over-eager Pettigrew had returned already and was waving a pale wand in front of me, pulling me out of my reverie. "I got it! My lord, here is your new wand! It's holly and phoenix feather!" 

I inspected it idly while he prattled on about his loyalty and gave it a try, "Silencio." It worked perfectly. _Still there..._ I could almost imagine Toby threatening the younger boys with the fire in his lighter; crying Will, who was almost always in a sling; and some of the little girls who were subdued into constant vacant expressions by the ministrations of Mr. Samuels. I could feel Worth's fat fingers digging into my throat... The orphanage had taught me the meaning of hate and showed me how little muggles valued each other. _Not so strong after all,_ I taunted myself, realizing these were some of the same images with which the Dementors had originally haunted me. It was time to wipe them off the earth, I rationalized. I could face my fears and burn away the memories forever and be all the stronger for my next task. 

I gazed at Pettigrew's quieted chattering mouth, absently noted that Bellatrix was still gone, and apparated for the first time in years, directly in front of the Greater Hangleton Orphanage. It was exactly the same, but the brick exterior felt smaller, less imposing. It was an abomination that must be wiped out. I visualized the building engulfed in flames, and shouted, "Incendio Proprius!" The results were just as I'd hoped. The brick burned like paper, brightening the winter night. I took in the warm reassurance of the flames, grew intoxicated by the smoke and the screams that began to emanate from inside, then suddenly were silenced. The fire leapt to the trees, spread to the school next door, then the church, and the fire would burn until nothing else was left to consume. _Excellent wand._ The heavy smoke was obscuring my vision as I apparated to Little Hangleton, to the familiar house where I had destroyed the rest of my supposed family. It only took a moment to set aflame, and I laughed hoarsely at the town as it crumbled. I waited until the sirens came my way to disapparate. 

The last coldness of Azkaban had thawed in my heart, but I wasn't fulfilled. I wanted more, wanted to destroy any last vestige of my old life and anyone who had gotten in my way. I didn't understand why I hadn't found even the passing patience I thought I'd achieve, but it wasn't worth dwelling on. What mattered was Hogwarts and Dumbledore. 

I returned to my new flat in Knockturn Alley to rest. Bella was sleeping in a corner on a pile of blankets like an animal, an amusing sight. I picked up a book, and the blurred pages immediately reminded me to correct my hyperopia. The spell I required was difficult to do correctly and best performed in front of a mirror, despite my aversion to the idea. I scowled at my own reflection and pointed the wand at my right eye in the bathroom mirror. "Oculus Amplio." I read a page of the book to check the results and found that I had done it perfectly. I repeated the procedure on the second eye, before attempting it directly on each eye without the mirror. My left eyeball blazed so badly I considered abandoning doing the other eye, but I wasn't one to surrender. My vision went red and hazy, but when it cleared, everything was sharper than it ever had been, clearer than human sight altogether. I peered at my reflection again. My eyes had become the color of blood with a thin python-like pupil, an unexpected side effect, but one that I rather admired. _Very unique, very intimidating._

I returned to the main room and deliberately turned the light off to read in the dark. My night vision was now excellent, and moreover, the experiment had prompted ideas for other self-improvements. I needed a new identity, and it would be exceptionally well-fitting for the heir of Slytherin, only Parselmouth alive, to look like a serpent. 

I started by adapting the original potion I had planned to use, and while it simmered, I went outside to summon the largest snake in the area. Several worthless specimens appeared, either too small or having recently fed, their guts full of useless birds or rats, before an escaped boa constrictor approached me. I stunned him and tossed his whole body, skin, blood, and bone, into the cauldron and began to chant the necessary spell. 

It had been so long since I'd last eaten that I vomited the first dose of potion I consumed, nearly awaking Bellatrix across the room. The second dose was swallowed properly, and I took another to be certain. Quickly, my skin seemed to pull too tight, I grew dizzy, and I blacked out on the floor. 


	3. Part Three

**

Part III

**

I awoke in the early morning feeling energized and powerful. I looked down at myself eagerly, like a child opening a present. My hands were smooth, cold, and long-fingered, white and almost scaly. Every bit of my skin, from now-bare head to back to feet was slick and unscarred, reborn. I rushed to the bathroom mirror to inspect my face, noting that I seemed taller. My head was hairless, pale and scaled, a bit flattened like a snake's. I was slightly revolted by my thin lips and smaller nose, but it would have the effect on others I desired. "I am Lord Voldemort," I spoke and noticed that even my voice had a hissing quality. I laughed, rasping and high, and Bella came to me. 

"My Lord, is that you? What have you done to yourself?" She seemed alarmed. 

"I am as I should have been long ago," I murmured with conviction. "Freed of filthy muggle blood and human weakness." 

She didn't look convinced but tried to hide it well. I flicked my wand and looked into her mind. My Legilimency skills seemed stronger with my improved eyes, as the scanning of Bellatrix for signs of disloyalty was very simple. She felt it was beneficial to herself to follow me, and we shared many of the same goals. There was something else, an underlying hunger for me, to share in my power. I wasn't confident in her long-term usefulness, but she was a suitable companion for now. 

But Pettigrew, on the other hand... He returned later that afternoon to tell us he had successfully postponed our follow-up hearings. I explained about my new appearance immediately to avoid enduring endless, pointless questions but he still alternated between gaping at me intermittently and averting his eyes entirely. 

"How did you acquire this wand?" I pointed it casually at him before twirling it between my fingers. 

"Are you pleased with it?" He looked happy with himself. 

"Yes, I am. Now answer me." 

"I transformed into a rat and stole it from Ollivander's. I'm sorry I couldn't carry it inside the box, but I made sure not to leave bite marks." 

"You're an animagus." I didn't waste my time asking why he didn't tell me sooner. "Go to Hogwarts and report to me on its protective wards and other spells. I need to know what I'll be facing. I don't imagine rats would have difficulty gaining entrance." 

Quirrell stomped his way up the stairs to join us. He was trembling at my new visage but still recognized me. "I was detained," he explained. "I couldn't get a wand." 

I wasn't at all surprised that he failed me, but I was still angry and it was time to dispose of security risks. "I could kill Dumbledore with my bare hands, but a wand would be simpler. Fortunately, Pettigrew was more reliable than you. _You_ did not do as I asked. I no longer need you to lead me to Dumbledore." His hands twitched stupidly, and his mouth was gaping. 

Years of repressed violence with no outlet exploded in an instant. "Avada Kedavra." The green light rushed from me, enveloping me in elation. Every time I performed the curse was easier and more pleasurable than before. He slumped to the floor with the same dull-minded expression. 

"He might have known more about Hogwarts' defenses than the rat would," Bellatrix pointed out. 

I tossed Quirrell's wand to Bellatrix, which placated her. Without being commanded, she transfigured his body into a scrap of meat and threw it out the window for passing dogs to eat. 

Pettigrew had managed to squirm out of the partial persuasive hold I had on him and was looking nauseated, kneeling on the floor. "Obey me, or live as a rat forever," I hissed at him, and he forced himself to composure. 

Bella transfigured a large green-curtained bed from her pile of blankets and a Persian carpet for the floor and indicated that she approved of the wand. She clearly wanted to Crucio Pettigrew, but I needed him to complete his last task. He left hurriedly. 

In the time that passed, I placed stronger wards and other protections on the flat, and Obliviated the store-owner to the point that he didn't even remember he had an apartment upstairs. I took some of his food when Bellatrix complained of hunger and ignored her requests to change her appearance as well so that she could go into the Alley for entertainment. _I_ had all the entertainment I needed within my own thoughts. 

However, my patience grew thinner after Pettigrew failed to return for five days. Sending him out without the Imperius Curse had apparently been a mistake. He didn't even answer my summons. 

"Perhaps he was eaten by a cat," my companion suggested the last night. 

"He will wish he had been." It was time to stop waiting. I flicked my wand and screamed out to the Dementors at Azkaban to meet me in the Forbidden Forest, seized my sword, grabbed Bella, and apparated to Hogwarts. 

The forest was oppressive at night, particularly with the sense of the approaching Dementors. Bella shivered against me, the cloud of her breath hanging long in the air, but asked in a neutral tone if the Dementors were really necessary. I ignored her. She was becoming tiresome. 

They arrived, hundreds of them, and for once, they evoked no visions in me. I was one with them, living to cause suffering, ready to see the fear in my enemy's eyes. We charged toward the school in a great cold fog. I had just reached the gate when an enormous white light came from a high tower, the headmaster's office, and my army fled, scattering into the forest and back to their island residence in the north. 

I attempted my permanent burning curse and found that the building was impervious to it. Alone, my attack failed, and Bellatrix looking very ill from the Dementors, I abandoned my plans. I no longer had the element of surprise, so perhaps it was not yet time to be seen. 

I returned home, cursing my impulsiveness and lack of preparation, and tossed Bellatrix into the corner, missing her bed so that her head cracked against its corner. I would kill the rat, the damned rat that failed me, kill the ignorant old fool of a headmaster, and I would find a way to burn the school to the ground. I stared at Bellatrix's unconscious body and tried to think of a reason not to kill her right now. My vision was flashing with rage and a splitting headache as I slashed her curtains with the useless sword. I held the blade poised above her pale throat, watching the breath rise in her chest. She had lied, pretended to be strong when she was as frightened and weak as everyone else. Whether one or one thousand Dementors, I had thought she was superior to that. She hadn't contributed anything useful to my cause, and I was in a deeply foul mood. Slowly, delicately, I traced a heavy line across her throat. 

She came awake with the pain immediately, clutching at her throat with one hand and everything else within her grasp with the other. The crimson blood flowed to the floor, soaking her clothing, and her agony seemed to increase instead of fading with the loss of it. It was a rather impressive weapon after all. She groped at me and soiled the edge of my robe. Her shrieking irritated me immensely, heightening my headache, and I wished I'd taken off her head. 

"Silencio," I muttered and sank into a chair while the sword clattered onto the floor. The blood had gone from a soothing river to a dreadful mess that threatened to soak through the carpet entirely. My god, even killing her was irritating. "Avada Kedavra," and the bleeding thankfully ceased. I threw a blanket on the floor to soak up the excessive puddle, levitated her onto her mattress, and let it be. 

I was enjoying a quiet day of reading and planning when Peter Pettigrew burst in. "I apologize, master for my tardiness." 

"Would you care to explain the reason for that?" 

"My friends were asking questions. I needed to go to a birthday party for James." 

"I hope you enjoyed yourself," I growled. "Has there been news of my attack on Hogwarts?" 

He looked startled. "I didn't know that was your doing. There was news of the Dementors escaping Azkaban, but apparently they came back by themselves." He edged around me to sit down and caught sight of Bellatrix covered in congealed blood. I hadn't disposed of her body, feeling rather pleased and focused by the sight of it. 

"Oh, Merlin!" he cried and began to scream. Originally that effect I had on people had impressed me, but now I was damned sick of it. 

"Shut up, or you're next! Accio sword." It flew into my hand and I aimed it at the cowering rat menacingly. "Report on Hogwarts' defenses now. No more blathering." 

The protections on Hogwarts were more elaborate than I'd expected the complacent society to require, but most were the same as when I was as student, and some had even been lifted after the war had ended. Apparently Pettigrew had gone in first as a rat and followed up in his official capacity as a member of Magical Law Enforcement after the Dementors had come. He convinced Dumbledore the attack was an isolated fluke and that his defenses were adequate as they were. His loyalty was acceptable, but his timeliness was very poor. He asked what he could do next. 

"Your usefulness has come to an end." He looked about to bolt when I aimed my wand at him. "Muto bestia." He was transformed into his rat form, and I put him in a body bind. He squeaked muffledly. It was a shame I didn't have any snakes to eat him, but destroying him myself would be satisfying. The squealing grew louder as my heavy shoe rose and then ended when I stomped him with a squelch and a crunch. 

I wasn't in the mood to clean up messes, so it was time to move on. I changed my clothes, gathered my sword and hilt, set the building on fire, and apparated near the lake at Hogwarts. 

The wards around the far edges of the school grounds were weak, and no one ever thought to protect a storm sewer pipe. I made my robe impervious to wetness and stepped into the large slanting tunnel that led into the lake. I transfigured myself gills and slid into the water. 

I stayed away from the merpeople but needed to waste time crushing a few bothersome grindylows. It didn't take long to locate the thin, magically sealed vent in the floor of the lake that kept the Chamber below from flooding but allowed emergency access. A contained rush of water sent me crashing down to the stone floor from the high ceiling. Upon inspecting myself, I was unharmed but had lost my sword in the lake. _No matter._ I removed my gills and was amused at how the fall would kill anyone but Slytherin's heir. I was recognized and protected in this place, right under Dumbledore's nose. 

The apparation wards could only be taken down from the inside of the building, and my Chamber was indeed attached to the inside. The wards automatically molded themselves to the shape of the school, underground and around the Chamber, covered by a second layer that encompassed the entire grounds out to the edge of the forest, which I had already circumvented. I planned to apparate to Dumbledore's rooms and use the Chamber as a stronghold if I needed to fall back. Unfortunately, the wards were more complicated than I had anticipated, and several hours of failed attempts forced me to decide to go up by foot. 

***

The voices of two giggling boys echoed in the corridor. "Hurry up, Neville! Snape will be back this way soon!" 

"I'm trying! What was the spell again, Harry?" 

"Shh! Hide!" 

Two boys, one red-cheeked and round-faced and one with glasses and unkempt hair, both wearing Gryffindor colors, were standing behind a statue when I approached. _Hostages, excellent._

They both turned a sickly shade when they saw I was not a professor. "Oh, Merlin," whispered the boy with glasses. "My Uncle Peter told me about you." 

I frowned. What else had Pettigrew done? "Your uncle was the rat? I killed him. Come with me, or you'll be next." 

"He's mental," the other boy sobbed. "Don't listen to him, Harry." 

"I'll fight you," Harry threatened, pointing his little oak wand at me. _A Gryffindor indeed._ I administered my improved Silent Crucio briefly, and that subdued him. Neville was crying so badly that I put the Imperius Curse on him. 

Harry twisted free of my grip and tried to run. "Imperio!" He relaxed and returned. "Take me to Dumbledore," I commanded, and Harry led, with Neville behind, acting as shields. 

It seemed neither child knew the password to the Headmaster's Office, so I blew the door off with the Reductor curse. Dumbledore was sitting at Dippet's old desk smiling as though he believed he were the victim of a prank. His hair was now white and longer, but his face had hardly aged. I had imagined Dumbledore dead so many times that seeing him was a shock, and it took me a moment to remember to throw the children into chairs and bind them. He drained of color when I asked, "Do you recognize me?" 

"Tom... You've changed. What have you done to yourself?" 

_Damn him, he still makes me feel like a nervous child._ I managed to conceal it from him. "You will address me as Lord Voldemort or die." 

"Surely you've come here to kill me anyway." 

"There are things worse than death. You taught me that by imprisoning me. You're worse than my father." I had no idea what prompted me to blurt that out. He was evaluating me now, staring at me with those piercing eyes. Well, I could strike back. 

With a physical jolt, I hit a solid wall I didn't expect to encounter, not just Occlumency, but a full mental shield that enclosed his mind. He was prepared. As little as I thought of him, he had managed to defeat Grindelwald, and that was no small task. 

"What do you want with these children?" 

"Nothing anymore," I replied. 

He whispered something before his voice boomed like a loudspeaker, "Evacuate the school immediately. All prefects--" 

I cut him off with a Crucio he didn't expect. Indeed, I had originally planned a Dementor's Kiss, a fitting punishment for the man who arranged my incarceration, but that had proven a failure. The Cruciatus curse was more satisfying though: I could see his fear of me in his eyes as I stood next to him. He wasn't screaming, merely wheezing and grunting as he fell out of his desk and twitched on the floor. I knelt down to watch his face and see--no _feel_--his sanity slipping away. 

"I've been waiting fifty years for this, Dumbledore," I spat at him. "You could never leave me alone, could you? You ruined my life." 

"You were a murderer," he rasped. "You could have destroyed the world." 

"I could have _ruled_ it, and you took that away from me. Tell me you fear me!" 

He struggled to rise one last time before his mind became incoherent, and he couldn't answer me, could barely breathe now. 

I was distantly aware that Harry had broken my Imperius hold and had begun screaming. What could the boy do, anyway? I didn't sense the apparation wards falling. 

The life was draining from Dumbledore, and I was feeling wild with ecstasy. My life was complete. There was nothing more I could want, no power I didn't have. For _no one_ had stood in my way and lived. His wet blue eyes closed, never to pierce me again, never to accuse me again, and I laughed at his tears and his weakness. _You thought you were powerful, but you're dead, just like all the others._ Somehow he looked just like my father, I realized, confused. 

Still laughing, I turned around to see two men with long, black hair, one very greasy, a man with glasses who looked like the boy, a sandy-haired man in shabby clothes, and a petite woman with long red hair, all surrounding me. The woman ran to check the boys, and the man with stringy hair raised his wand. _Doesn't he know no one can hurt me? I am the Dark Lord Voldemort. I'm... immortal._

I was still laughing uncontrollably, lost in my pleasure, when I heard the word "Avada," and the world went green with a rush of wind. 

The End. 


End file.
